The Emerald Heir: A Potterverse Story
by maxyboyunderoath
Summary: While Harry and his friends are busy saving the world from Voldemort, another great threat looms in the shadows, waiting to strike when the Wizarding World is broken and weak. On the first night of the 1996-97 school year, a mysterious 16 year-old boy arrives in the dead of night and brings with him danger that will test Phoebe Walker, a fifth-year Hufflepuff, to her limits...
1. Chapter 1 - The Arrival

_**Author's Preface**_

First off, feel free to skip this if you want as it has nothing to do with the story. Secondly, if you recognize me from Google+, you may know that I'm writing an original novel series that is neither based off the _Harry Potter_ novels by J.K. Rowling nor takes place in that universe. This is NOT that novel. Work out that double-negative if you can... I am still in the outlining faze of that particular series, so I don't expect to release official content on that in years.

THIS story is merely a method of clearing my mind of writer's block. Every now and then, I need to take my writing less seriously and have more fun with it. This particular plot was partly a story I developed in a bout of role-play with a fellow writer, but it was a bit too in-depth for the story we were playing around with. I thought it might make a good story for light reading, so voila. I intend to release this story in small chunks (more commonly known as chapters), and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.

I love the Harry Potter novels, and I have always loved allowing my imagination to take off with possible stories that could flow from that rich source that is Miz Rowling's imagination. I might also add that I hope you don't take offense to the liberties I took with the story. For example, I will possibly incorporate an unconfirmed theory into the story. This may either enrage you, enthrall you..., or disgust you. Also, this particular story will begin during the summer of 1996 before Harry Potter's 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and my plan is for it to continue on past the Battle of Hogwarts.

To Get Involved: If you have any suggestions for the story-line, I am all ears. Any criticisms are, of course, welcome, and feel free to email me any time at _mynamewasfrog_. As stated previously, I am involved in _Google+_ , so I will be announcing whenever I update the story with new chapters, often with a teaser. However, I wouldn't bother checking out my profile if I were you since none of the content there will be half as original or interesting as this. In the future, I may also start Emerald Heir-themed _Instagram_ , _Facebook_ , _YouTube_ , and/or _Twitter_ accounts to allow the readers to more effectively follow my content or so I can interact with them and answer questions. You may also receive alerts for whenever I update the story if you choose to follow here on _Wattpad_. If you like my story, please let me know in the comments, and share with your friends on your social media of choice. Although, who knows? I may simply be deluded into thinking I'll actually have readers. Only time will tell.

Disclaimer: Needless to say, I do not claim attributions to any of the characters, events, or locations that appear in the _Harry Potter_ novels. Those belong to J.K. Rowling and her estate. This story is written by a fan for the fans. Furthermore, any inspiration for the characters, and the like-even of my original design-I dedicate to her. I also apologize to every one of my English teachers for any and all improper grammar. You tried. You really did...

 _ **Chapter 1 – The Arrival**_

Phoebe Walker, a fifth year, grabbed an old, grimy phial from the dusty shelves of a closet in the quiet infirmary and handed it to Madame Pomfrey to be cleaned and replaced. "Scourgify!" the aging healer announced, and the glass instantly became white and clean. The fall term of 1996 had just begun at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there was work to be done in the infirmary in preparation for the countless flus, coughs, and negative repercussions of poorly applied spells and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products passing through for weeks ahead. Even at ten o' clock at night, Phoebe aided Madame Pomfrey in her mission to "be ready for whatever the little buggers can think of to do to each other."

"Madame Pomfrey?" Phoebe inquired. "Did you always know you wanted to be a healer?"

Madame Pomfrey stood up straight and turned sharply toward Phoebe.

"Child, I continue repeating myself! You do not have to call me that. You are one of my most advanced students and my protege. Please, call me Poppy."

Shutting her eyes and squinting as if calling the old healer by her first name caused physical pain, Phoebe continued.

"Alright..., Poppy, but you didn't answer my question."

"I suppose I did know."

" _How_ did you know?"

"I suppose I just knew I wanted to help people."

Raising her eyebrows, the student shot Poppy a reprising glare.

"Come on. There's gotta be more to it than that."

Poppy nodded. "Ah, I suppose it can't hurt. I suppose... I decided to become a healer when my little brother, a muggle, passed away from an illness when I was only a girl. I blamed myself. Because I was a witch, I thought I could've saved him. Unfortunately, magic doesn't work that way. Just because we want something, doesn't make it happen. From then on, I swore I'd _learn_ how to cure anyone of _any_ malady-OUCH!"

At that moment, the phial in Poppy's hand shattered under her intensified grip, and blood trickled down her arm, flowing from the precise cuts.

"Here, allow me."

Phoebe pulled a small leather pouch from her robes and poured a couple of drops of clear liquid into one hand. With the other, she drew her wand, and shouted "Accio, glass!" Once the glass was removed from Poppy's hand, Phoebe placed her potion hand onto Poppy's.

"Thank-you, child."

"Please," the student said with a sly grin. "Call me Phoebe."

Returning the smile, Poppy mended the smashed phial and placed it back on the shelf before asking, "Well, Phoebe, considering your skepticism of my initial answer, is there an underlying reason _you_ want to be a healer?"

Phoebe halted in thought with her hand resting in midair, grasping onto a phial. Before she could answer, however, the doors to the infirmary swung open with a "boom," and Hagrid the half-giant came panting into the wide hall. In his arms lay a limp figure, marred with extensive cuts, bruises, and burns and soaked in its own blood. In fact, Phoebe wouldn't have even identified the creature as a human had Hagrid not immediately exclaimed, "The boy's losing blood, fast, Madame Pomfrey! Found him out in the Forest!"

"Who is he, Hagrid?!" queried Poppy, but Harid could only shake his head.

Remembering herself, Phoebe blurted, "Whoever he is, we can't leave him like this!"

Springing to action, the healer and her student ushered Hagrid to one of the newly-cleaned beds who dropped him unceremoniously on the bed, staining it with blood and dark pus.

After looking down at the boy with pity, Hagrid bellowed, "I'll go look for any other 'uns," and stomped out of the hall.

At this angle, Phoebe, who stood barely above 5 feet, could at last clearly see the newcomer in full sickening view. And such a sickeningly pathetic creature was he. Aside from his current injuries, numerous scars already decorated his paper-white skin. The boy's face seemed older, but his malnourished limbs indicated otherwise. Regardless of the considerable amount of muscle present, he had barely any fat, and veins popped out through the skin everywhere, indicating hunger and thirst. In every other respect, he was under-grown. He couldn't have stood over five feet and a few inches and weighed 130 pounds soaking wet. His hair, while long, was falling out of his scalp in irregular clumps, his blood-shot eyes continuously gazed forward, wide in shock, and, most horrifyingly, his mouth had been sewed shut.

They prioritized for the situation by taking a muggle blood-pump out of a specially-marked black case, replacing his body's blood supply with multiple batches of on-the-fly replicating potion. They also attempted to inject the stranger with a muggle pain-killer since they couldn't feed him a potion orally, but he refused it. Next, they began the arduous process of stripping off the young man's already tattered clothing. Some of the severely burnt sections of the clothing fell off the body while others had to be carefully snipped with a cutting charm and pulled carefully out of deep cuts, doing all this without inflicting further damage to the nerves or tendons. This was exactly what Phoebe had been training for during the past four years of her education.

Of course, Phoebe, a short fifth year at Hogwarts, knew she would be exposed to this type of experience, although, not this soon. Furthermore, not many other students or teachers expected such performance from her either. Her pale complexion, deep, sapphire-blue eyes, straight, white teeth, small, round nose, sparsely freckled countenance, minuscule frame, and sleek, black, shoulder-length bob hair did not display the character of someone who could stand the sight of blood, much less aid Madame Pomfrey in such a critical case.

Already, some of the flesh had begun to rot and had to be cut away by Madame Pomfrey who hesitantly resorted to a vile-sounding spell Phoebe had never heard before. As Madame Pomfrey was preparing the next step of the process, Phoebe was given the unpleasant task of using a scalpel to remove the stitch from the stranger's mouth. She expected a lot of moaning or even screaming once the majority of the stitch had been removed, but throughout the entire procedure, the boy lay silent against his pillow, clinging to the bed-sheets with an occasional abrupt flinch.

After the body had been stripped completely and every external injury had been purged of infection via complicated spells, Madame Pomfrey insured that the boy was no longer in his former critical state and wrapped his entire body in gauze lined with essence of dittany. However, the magical herb seemingly had no positive effect on the patient who finally began releasing eerie moans. Poppy stood back to take a breath away from the rotting flesh lying in the bin beside the bed.

"At least he's awake. It's the sleepers you've got to watch out for...hard to tell whether they're just under or on the verge of death."

Phoebe slumped back into a chair, wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, trying not to use her hand and wiping blood and loose skin on her face but failing miserably.

"Why isn't the dittany working on him?" asked Phoebe.

"Well, dear, it seems like he's been made immune to the potion for some reason. He has to have to been given a counter-potion over an extended period of time. It's still in his system, whereas any potion I can think of only has a lasting effect of a few minutes."

"Is that why he refused the pain-killer, Mada- Poppy? He knew it wouldn't do him any good?"

"I suppose. However, I do not think that question is as important right now."

"What are the important questions?"

"Well, for example, who is this young man, where did he come from, and who did this to him?"

At that moment, the strange boy who had arrived in the dead of night fell silent...asleep...escaped from the pain and terror of consciousness...


	2. Chapter 2 - The Sleeper

_**Author's Before-Note**_

I know, I know. I'm a terrible person. It took me a whopping two months to upload my next chapter. All I can say is, hopefully that won't happen as much with my current schedule. Again, if you like my story and hope for more to come, follow and share. You can email me personally at mynamewasfrog at gee mail dot kom( doesn't like me using the official address for some reason) if you have any questions, suggestions, or criticisms. All are more than welcome. You can also find me at Google Hangouts and Google+. Other online social media like official Emerald Heir Twitter, Instagram, Facebook page, and more on the way.

 _ **Chapter 2 – The Sleeper**_

The next morning, Phoebe woke up in her dormitory in a cold sweat. She had been having a nightmare from which her only escape had been her abrupt awakening. Every morning, her pitch-black cat, Morpheus seemed to take sadistic pleasure in rousing her, yet on this particular morning, Phoebe actually thanked him for it with an affectionate pat on the head.

At first, she could barely remember why her dream was so terrifying, but as she slipped out of her pajamas and into her freshly pressed uniform, she recalled fleeting images of a gory figure with a familiar stitch running across its emotionless mouth each time she blinked her eyes. A chill ran down her back. Her dream was now coming back to her.

For the first time ever, she felt incredibly lonely and wished desperately for someone to comfort her...to save her from her disturbing thoughts. And for the first time ever, Phoebe sighed in relief when her dormitory mates started stirring. She didn't usually talk to them, and they never talked to her except perhaps to ask for the common-room password. In this instance, however, she appreciated their half-hearted "good morning"s.

She climbed out of the bed where she had previously spent half the night tossing and turning, hesitantly placed her feet on the cold, stone floor, and raced to the only rug in the dormitory in front of the mirror. In her half-asleep state, she approached the filthy mirror with caution, half-expecting to look back at a blood-spattered version of herself instead of one that, in reality, merely dripped in cold sweat. To her relief, her leg appeared, then her waist, stomach, shoulders, neck, and finally her head, and not a single inch of her displayed any sign of crimson. She sighed again, dug a broad-bristled brush out of her bag she had carelessly strewn on the floor the night before, and she started lazily brushing her tangled mess of raven hair.

Once she was ready, and her class supplies were neatly arranged in her bag, Phoebe eagerly fled the darkness of her dorm room to the bright hall through which countless noisy students would soon be flooding, distracting her from unwelcome thoughts of dark creatures - creatures that sew people's mouths shut before torturing them, thus preventing them from screaming in agony. Had she been a muggle living in the mundane muggle world, Phoebe might have taken comfort in the fact that such creatures probably don't exist, but being a witch living in the Wizarding World where dementors and vampires and giants and trolls and goblins and werewolves thrived, she just didn't know.

Phoebe rounded the entrance to the Great Hall for breakfast, smelling a mix between leftover platters from last night's start-of-term feast and this morning's breakfast. Though apparently, nightmares don't ruin one's appetite because she was starved and was just beginning to appreciate the good things that came with living at Hogwarts again.

Ten minutes into her meal, and halfway through her third helping of bacon and eggs, Madame Pomfrey finally appeared in the doorway of the great hall, exhausted and drained but cleaned to perfection as to mask the nature of her recent activities. The arrival of the mysterious boy was not strictly common knowledge yet, so showing up in the Great Hall covered in the boy's blood and flesh would surely get tongues wagging.

As Madame Pomfrey approached the Hufflepuff table, Phoebe couldn't help blurting out "Poppy, you look awful." Madame Pomfrey jokingly acted offended, but seconds later she slumped down next to Phoebe and wiped her forehead on her new apron.

"Well, Phoebe, he seems to be in stable condition now. Yes, he woke up many times last night in pain, but the good news is that I've finally found a potion that will counter the effects of his potion-countering potion. I just have to brew the full batch. He's been asleep for a few hours now though, during which I took the opportunity to give him a more thorough cleaning and replace the soaked bandages. He's much more compliant when he's asleep."

Phoebe was able to forget her nightmares for at least five minutes at this discussion closer to her comfort level.

"Has he been fighting the bandages?"

Poppy shook her head.

"Not fighting them in the applications, but whenever he wakes up, he's always in shock and terror. He repeatedly forgets that he's safe at Hogwarts. I have to calm him down, but every time, he tries taking the newest bandages off. He's gotten very good at it too. Even though I've bound him to the bed by his wrists and ankles, spread-eagle style, he's worked out that the quickest method by far is burning the bandages off first with magic and then dealing with his burning skin later."

Confused, Phoebe interjected, "But Poppy, how did he burn them off? You didn't give him a wand, did you?" Again, shaking her head, Madame Pomfrey merely answered as if explaining the color of the sky.

"He didn't need one, clever bastard. I've never personally seen so much control with wandless magic before. Mind you, his only control is with magic. His emotions are all over the place right now. I haven't heard a word of English or any other language from him yet. He only moans, yells, and laughs. I've figured it out though. The moaning is for when the pain is manageable, the yelling is for when the pain is considerably more intense, and the laughing is for when it's unbearable...poor bastard."

After this, a silence fell between the two. Madame Pomfrey ate the remainder of her plate until she noticed younger students pouring into the hall and finally spoke again.

"Well, dearie, the noise is about to increase by about four-hundred percent, so I'm going to my office for a lie-down. If you want to help me later this afternoon after your classes, you can stand on duty for me and make sure the patient doesn't choke on his own tongue. Although, wear a medical mask. I've seen enough students coughing all over the place today. I don't want you giving him something else to worry about."

Waving good-bye, Phoebe agreed to this term, grabbed her bookbag, and zig-zagged through a crowd of students toward her first class of the new term.

Later after her classes were over, and at Madame Pomfrey's permission, Phoebe had levitated a large mahogany desk into the hospital wing, and there she settled, completing her first day's homework while waiting for the stranger to stir. She was determined. Perhaps this time, he would be more talkative.

Every few minutes, between long essay paragraphs or spell practice, Phoebe would glance over at the boy, still in deep sleep. Occasionally, he would shift in bed or mutter some unintelligible phrase, but for the most part, he maintained borderline-lethargic homeostasis. Like the rest of the staff, she was incredibly curious about the boy's origins, and she wanted to be present when he regained consciousness.

During the first hour, her resolve was strong, though Phoebe had done what Madame Pomfrey had asked as she was wearing the stuffy hospital face mask. The trapped warm air from her breath along with the beginning-of-September warmth in the room began working its magic on Phoebe as her head slumped forward onto her bosom, and she drifted into an uneasy doze.

At first, she was waltzing in a dim ballroom lined with crimson curtains with a tall faceless man wearing a black and red suit. He lead with such authority, and he strongly spun her in flourishing circles around the floor, but as the slow, melancholy song drew on, they danced closer to the sparse lights floating around them like fireflies, and she let out a scream. She could finally make out the same terrifying features of the gory figure from her dream. This time, at such close proximity, she could clearly see his flaming red eyes, and she now noticed that the fiend was stretching his stitched mouth into a sinister smile that made her skin crawl. She tried to break away from his steely grip, but he only grasped her waist and hand harder and pulled her in closer, dancing faster and faster.

Suddenly, what must have been several hours after her arrival, Phoebe woke up to the "thud" of a sparrow attempting to fly directly through the glass of the lofty window behind her. Phoebe stared straight ahead and sighed at the brilliantly orange sunset dropping swiftly in the sky to hide behind the mountains, and she finally decided to break away from the currently agonizing isolation of the hall to join the rest of the school at dinner.

Yet, at that moment, she noticed a rustling noise to her immediate right. The stranger was writhing in his sleep...possibly a nightmare. Well, at least she wasn't the only one having nightmares. Despite average concerns though, what worried Phoebe at this point was his abrupt tossing and turning that loosened his tightly-wound bandages. His deep cuts that had only just begun to heal with the aid of dittany were reopening, and blood began trickling back down every inch of his broken body.

She quickly jumped to her feet, rushing to his bedside, and trying desperately to calm him. At first, it helped. He returned to his peaceful state enough for her to wipe the blood from his slightly opened lips. And for the first time, he abandoned his natural scowl...she could almost swear he smiled.

When his breathing became more regular, and his chest rose and fell in slow intervals, she pushed his hair out of his face caringly and determined to find Madame Pomfrey to help her re-apply the bandages. But as she turned to leave for the infirmary office, the stranger suddenly unleashed a gut-wrenching wail. Phoebe's nerves were already on edge after her dreams that now haunted her waking moments, but she returned to the stranger's bedside and tried once more to handle the situation.

After shaking him roughly for about a minute, his eyes suddenly sprung open, though were instantly blinded by the combination of blood, sweat, and his own stringy hair falling back into his eyes. Disoriented and confused by his blindness and the abrupt change from nightmare to reality, the stranger started screaming at the top of his lungs.

The thick straps binding his wrists and ankles to the bed-frame burst into flames, falling to the floor in ashes, and he sprang out of bed in the blink of an eye. Before Phoebe could even pull her wand out of her cloak, one of the stranger's muscular hands sprung to her throat, and as if she were weightless, he threw her entire body into the air and brought her down hard onto the broad desk she was previously working on. He leapt onto the desk on top of her, raised a minatory fist, and demanded in a deep voice, "WHERE THE HELL IS LAZLO?!" Blood and saliva spurted from his mouth and through the stitch holes, spraying her face.

With the restricted use of her throat, neither incantations or pleads for mercy ever reached her lips. Fortunately, at that moment, Professor McGonagall entered the infirmary followed closely by Madame Pomfrey, McGonagall shooting numerous stunning spells at the stranger. Although still blinded, he jerked his head in the direction of the new noise and bared his teeth like a tiger. If he was angry now though, that was nothing compared to when stunning spells began hitting him, one after the other.

The first spell hit him square in the face, but it merely glanced off the surface of his skin and hit the bed behind him, which burst into flames. The second, however, absorbed into his neck, and every vein on that region of his body glowed bright red for a brief moment.

At this point, the stranger decided that catching himself on fire was the best next course of action. Within a split second, a high-pitched whistle pierced the air, and the stranger was immediately wreathed in flames. Meanwhile, Phoebe attempted to push herself from between his legs and get away from the lunatic since he was no longer focused on her.

He turned to face the source of the spells, and had raised his arms threateningly, but he had spent too much time recovering from the second attack. After the third stunning spell, he was thrown across the long hallway, and with a resounding "crack," he landed in a smoldering heap.

Madame Pomfrey rushed instantly to Phoebe, but McGonagall slowly approached the stranger with caution. When she confirmed that he was completely incapacitated in a spell-induced paralysis, she bent over his motionless body. He was lying on his back, his legs bent outward into painfully unnatural positions, and although the fire hadn't severely damaged his skin, it was now burning away his hair and the remaining bandages so that blood once more flowed freely from every inch of skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as he was trying to process the pain of his newly broken legs without the luxury of being able to open his mouth to scream.

Realizing the boy's face and hair was still on fire, McGonagall pointed her wand at his head and yelled "Aguamenti!" and a strong stream of water erupted from the tip to pressure-wash his face clean of blood, sweat, and singed hair. Madame Pomfrey was certain she could have conjured a weaker stream that would have been gentler and definitely would have stung less, but at that point, McGonagall did not care at all what kind of discomfort she was causing him.

The aged professor then wiped the boy's eyes dry and stood up stiffly. The stranger's eyes scanned the room before landing on Madame Pomfrey and then Phoebe, and he remembered where he really was. He closed his eyes and relaxed his entire body, but his breathing only quickened as his adrenaline levels subsided, and the pain took full effect.

"I'm only going to ask this once, you bastard," bellowed McGonagall. "Who the HELL are you, and why are you attacking my students?!" She pointed her wand at the stranger and uttered the counter-incantation for the stunning spell but continued aiming her wand steadily at his heart.

Regaining the use of his jaw, he released an involuntary moan and quickly stifled it after a quick glance at Phoebe. He raised a scarred and burnt hand as a plea for mercy. And now staring determinedly past McGonagall at Phoebe with rich amber eyes, he groaned out in a deep, elegant voice, "My name is Leo, ma'am. Leo Price…and I'm sorry, but for a minute there, I thought I was somewhere else."

 _ **Author's After-Note**_

Well, that didn't reveal much about "the stranger" other than the fact that he can speak English, he isn't a muggle, his name is Leo Price, he's looking for a guy named Lazlo, and that he's one crazy mofo. I promise, the next chapter will actually explain what's going on a bit better. I've already got the next part planned out. In fact, I'm considerably proud of the fact that I've actually got the entire story planned out. I promise, I'm not just making this up as I go along. Anyway, untitled Chapter 3 coming soon….


	3. Chapter 3 - The Limper

_**Author's Before-Note for Chapter 3**_

Aren't you glad I keep my promises? I believe my exact words were "coming SOON." I know. I KNOW! What has it even been? Three...four months?! I'm a terrible person. I feel just awful. Anyway, like I announced on my GooglePlus profile, I should have chapters 4 and 5 up within the next week or so. Also, I'm hoping my new semester schedule will allow me to post at least one chapter per week on Saturday or Sunday, although we all know how that worked out last time. This semester should at least be a bit easier for me, since I actually kind-of know what I'm doing now. I'm at least trying to make this up to you guys. Now, without further ado, Chapter 3, you ungrateful peasants...

 _ **CHAPTER 3 - THE LIMPER**_

Once Madame Pomfrey had tended to Phoebe, she rushed past Professor McGonagall and waved her wand over the boy's body, immediately healing his broken bones.

"Mr. Price," she cooed. "Can you stand for me, please? I'm going to have to move you to a new bed now."

She wrapped her arm under his and walked him to the closest bed with fresh sheets for him to stain. Yet, after what had just occurred, Professor McGonagall could not understand how Madame Pomfrey could possibly be treating this monster with such gentleness.

"Poppy! I hardly think we want to keep him here after we clearly established he can't be held here safely. Perhaps we should consider keeping him in a more secure location."

"He's not a prisoner, Minerva. He's a patient. He's not going to hurt anyone."

"Anyone ELSE you mean? He's just hurt young Miss Walker here."

Both adult witches turned to look back at Phoebe who was slumped over in her make-shift office chair, staring at Price with an expression of disgust. They glanced back at each other and jumped into the tasks for which they each had visited the infirmary in the first place. Madame Pomfrey began refreshing the newly compliant patient's bandages while Professor McGonagall drew from her robes a stack of parchment filled with questions and briefings.

"Miss Walker." This time Professor McGonagall assumed a cooing voice, directing it at the stunned student. "Would you please wait in Madame Pomfrey's office for a few minutes while we sort things out? We shouldn't be long, and Madame Pomfrey will come and fetch you when we're done here."

As if in a daze, Phoebe slowly rose from the chair and hobbled out of the eerie hall, now assuming the darkness of the dusk outside, and into Poppy's warmly lit office. She sat curled up in the cushioned armchair for over an hour, shivering from the shock of recent events rather than cold, exploring the medicine-strewn shelves with her eyes.

Right before the overwhelming isolation of the office forced her to crack and rejoin her company, the handcrafted door swung open, and Poppy entered.

"I apologize for having kept you waiting, although I'm sure you weren't ready to go back to your dormitory quite yet anyway. Are you alright?"

Phoebe grasped her throat with one small hand but nodded slowly without changing her gaze.

"Professor McGonagall and I have decided it would be for the best if you continued your formal education away from the infirmary. I've decided...you're not quite ready for practical application. If you study hard in and outside of classes, I'm sure you'll do fine in your higher learning preliminaries. In short, I don't want you in the infirmary for the foreseeable future. I'll continue to tend to the boy in private, and I'll update you with information as it comes, but this whole ordeal has been too hard on you. I think it'd be best if you just focused more on your other classes for a while."

As Madame Pomfrey said all of this, Phoebe sat in silence, staring downward at the beautifully complex refraction of light through a potion phial. To make sure Phoebe was comprehending her words, Madame Pomfrey bent over so that their noses almost touched. Phoebe's brilliant, blue eyes diverted from the light and redirected to meet Madame Pomfrey's. Clearing her throat to combat the effects of staring at the pain resonating from Phoebe's gaze, Madame Pomfrey merely whispered, "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

At that, Phoebe roused herself from the comfort and safety of the armchair and made her way through the secondary entrance, back to her dormitory alone.

Two weeks passed, and Phoebe had neither seen Madame Pomfrey nor heard any word about Leo Price. And after two weeks of waiting, despite the prevalence of her now nightly terrors, Phoebe's general shock and fear were gradually replaced by curiosity of the mysterious boy and annoyance at Madame Pomfrey for ignoring her entirely. Phoebe only assumed Madame Pomfrey had been taking her meals in her office all this time, because she hadn't even show her face. Phoebe hadn't been cleared to enter the infirmary on Poppy's direct orders, so she knew she shouldn't try forcing the subject of the strange boy's progress. She eventually began suspecting the boy was dying because of some outlying complication, and Poppy was merely spending all of her free time in tending to him.

Though, as if in answer to her peaking frustration, during dinner on a stormy Friday night, two weeks after the "incident," Madame Pomfrey entered the Great Hall in a most casual manner and approached Phoebe at her usual eating spot at Hufflepuff's table. Initially, Phoebe couldn't believe the blase manner in which Madam Pomfrey stood in front of her, without apologizing for having been essentially missing from Hogwarts for two weeks. She wanted to yell at her for breaking her promise to deliver updates about the strange Mr. Price. However, unable to overcome the blast of excitement in anticipation for finally having answers to her questions, Phoebe merely raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to answer away.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only stood shaking her head. Phoebe was incredulous.

"Hasn't he said _anything_?"  
Again, Poppy shook her head as she sat down next to Phoebe.

"Oh, he's been talking alright. He just hasn't given us any real information about what happened to him out in the forest or otherwise. He says he was beaten by thieves, but as knowledgeable and powerful he is using magic, I really don't see how any common criminal could do _that_ to him."

"Well, what has he been saying?" Phoebe said, growing considerably annoyed by the second.

"He's mostly been asking questions about Hogwarts, really. The effects of that last outburst must have snapped him back to reality, because ever since, he's been acting like a completely normal young man. He may not be eating as much as we'd like him to, but he's no longer turning his nose up at bread and soup. He was smart at first though. I didn't blame him for being picky. Along with his other injuries, the boy was on the brink of starvation. If he had tried anything heavier than broth, he'd've been sick, but now it's really time for him to move to something that will return his strength.

And his mannerisms and apparent maturity are superior to that of any normal sixteen-year-old. I suppose that's why Professor Dumbledore is allowing him to start his education here. Since the one outlying situation, his stellar behavior and expressions of sincere apologies have indicated that he's ready to start integrating with young witches and wizards his age again. We let Mr. Price know that he'd be allowed to study at Hogwarts a few days ago, and ever since, he's been asking nothing but questions about the school. He's even been asking about you."

At this revelation, Phoebe felt again a chill in the air as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

"Me? What does he want to know about me?"

"Well, he just wanted to know your name and such. We didn't tell him, considering the fact that you probably don't want him to know too much about you. We also considered the fact that you may not want to have anything to do with him after what he did. Although, he has apologized many times, and I believe his interest in you is merely based on the fact that he wanted to be able to apologize to you in person."

"But after what he did, why is he being allowed to come to Hogwarts?"

"Like I said, Dumbledore personally vouched for the young Mr. Price, I suppose because some on the staff like Professor Slughorn helped bend Dumbledore's mind toward permitting the boy's formal education here."

"Professor Slughorn? Who else?"

Poppy thought for a moment. "Why, I believe Professor Hagrid, and...Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape? Really? I suppose I could see how 'Mr. Price' could be appealing to him, but I've never heard of Snape vouching for any student on any matter, except maybe Draco Malfoy. Maybe he thinks Price'll end up in Slytherin."

"Perhaps. Anyhow, he should be arriving any minute."

"Professor Snape?"

"No, dearie. Mr. Leo Price. He's to be sorted any minute. I just wanted to let you know the situation, so it wouldn't be as much of a shock to you. If you don't want to have anything to do with the boy, that's up to you, but he has tested into your year, so he may have a few classes with you. If that's the case, I'd let your teachers know your feelings so they won't put you together as partners. Well, I'm off now. I still need to disassemble Price's private chamber. I can finally use the room for storage again instead of my office."

At that, Madam Pomfrey sauntered off toward the massive doorway to the great hall, and once more after two weeks of absence, she was gone.

In silence, Phoebe anxiously pondered the previous conversation and the consequences that would apply to the ordeal now her attacker would potentially be in classes with her on a daily basis. But not five minutes later, the doorway to the great hall filled with the silhouette of Professor McGonagall holding a tattered witch's hat in her left hand, and in her right, she weakly supported the massive left hand of the mysterious Mr. Price, whose gnarled and scarred body bent over a crudely-crafted cane.

Although, Madam Pomfrey should've been able to immediately cure many of his injuries with simple charms and potions, most of his body was still wrapped in gauze, and he still sported deep, dark rings under his eyes. The presence of the cane and additional support obviously meant he still could not walk very well on his own. In fact, the only affected part of Price's body that actually had healed was his mouth where the stitches used to be. His previously long, matted hair was also completely shorn off, so he looked like a soldier returned from a particularly gruesome war.

As the two tiny figures on the far side of the vast hall slowly crossed over to the teachers' table for the sorting, a few heads turned to see who this late-comer was. Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid smiled to greet the boy, but most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts couldn't care less who this stranger was. Too many terrible things were going on in the world at the time for anyone to care about anything outside their own business. What with missing relatives and well-known figures and stories in the newspapers every other day about entire neighborhoods full of houses in flames. The arrival of an odd transfer student meant nothing to the students of Hogwarts.

Finally, after ten minutes of hobbling across the Great Hall, Price finally reached the steps leading to the other Professors at the bottom of which stood a single three-legged stool. Professor McGonagall aided the helpless boy onto the stool, and she placed the tattered Sorting Hat upon Price's bandaged crown.

A few more heads turned to face the front of the Hall, and the Slytherin table unenthusiastically applauded when the hat called out their House after five more minutes of silent concentration from the sentient Hat. Professor Snape raised his eyebrows in slight interest, but ultimately, this particular sorting garnered few spectators. After helping Price onto one of the empty stools no one ever wanted at the front of Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall rushed up to her seat at the teachers' table and struck up a conversation with Professor Flitwick as if nothing unusual had just happened.

Back in her corner of the room, Phoebe was one of the few students who intently witnessed the short sorting ceremony of Mr. Price, but still she locked her gazed on the new student through the vast crowd even after the end of the ceremony. She wanted to see what Price would do when interacting with his fellow-Slytherins. Initially, other students around him attempted welcoming Price to their house, and they even offered to shake hands. Price returned many of their handshakes, and he nodded cordially to each of the new acquaintances, but he didn't seem to mind one bit when they all began ignoring him and returning to their old conversations. He then assumed the somber silence he'd been maintaining the entire night up to that point.

Phoebe's confusion and curiosity only reached its peak when, having stared at Leo Price apparently longer than she should've, Price's eyes traveled up from his own empty bowl and met hers. Perhaps Phoebe was imagining things, but she could've sworn he smiled and winked at her before quickly returning his direction of vision downward.

She'd decided. She had to know who this Mr. Price really was, whether harmless boy, lying monster, or neither. And whatever he was, his very arrival was causing her to have the worst nightmares of her entire life. This had to stop. Whether Price was dangerous or not, she needed to know who the man in her dreams was, real, phantom or figment, and in one stroke of decisiveness, she slammed her small fists on the oak table, stood tall, and crossed the Hall toward Slytherin table.

As if her mind and will were separated from her body, she felt herself strutting across the Great Hall toward the sea of green-clad students. When she reached him, Leo Price gazed up at her and smiled, as if he had been pleasantly surprised by a visit from a friend. But he didn't greet her. He didn't ask what she wanted. He didn't even apologize for almost killing her two weeks ago. He merely muttered in a voice audible only to Phoebe, "I was wondering when you'd work up the courage to come talk to me. I've heard the Houses don't seem to mix much, but I thought you'd make an exception for me, even though I am a Slytherin."

Determined not to be distracted from her mission, all Phoebe said was, "Who are you, and who's Lazlo? I want answers."

Price turned around to make sure no one was looking or listening to their conversation, but because a Hufflepuff directly addressing a Slytherin at the Slytherin table was a rare sight, students of every house were finally beginning to stare despite their previous disinterest in the new student.

"Couldn't we have this conversation elsewhere?"

In this instance, Phoebe knew exactly what to say.

"You're right. Let's go to my table. No one will mind so much there's a Hufflepuff talking to a Slytherin over there."

She wasn't about to be alone with the boy for a second time. Leo Price smirked. "Of course. Lead the way." After watching Price wince, forcing himself from his seat with his walking cane, Phoebe led him slowly back across the Hall to the increasingly vacant Hufflepuff table. They had no trouble finding isolated seats now the dinner rush had begun to slow down.

"Sit down," Phoebe said curtly, and with a sigh, Price slumped onto an opposite stool, as if exhausted by the relocation. As she turned around on her stool to face the boy, she saw that he was no longer smiling. His façade of unsettling, attempted charm had fallen away.

"I know you want answers…, and I'm prepared to answer them. First, though, I have a couple of questions of my own. One…,"

He dipped a ladleful of beef broth into a new bowl and said in an even lower voice while grabbing a spoon, "Why aren't you still afraid of me?"

 _ **Author's After-Note**_

Since "this week's episode" will be closely followed by the next installment, I hope you won't mind me stopping right there. I hope you enjoyed, by the way. It seems like ever since my first chapter-upload, I've been very snarky toward my readers. I thought I'd just give you a bone, as I really do appreciate your readership. Once more, if you've enjoyed this in any capacity or have any suggestions for my work, please, feel free to contact me via email(mynamewasfrog at gee mail dot com) or simply post your comment in the review section below whether or not you have an account on this site. Thanks, guys!


	4. CHAPTER 4 - THE RUNAWAY

_**Author's Before-Note for Chapter 4**_

Huzzah! I've finally published a chapter to my story less than two months after the previous installment! Aren't you proud of me? Seeing as I don't have to attach endless ramblings of apology to this note, my words here will remain brief. I can only say, if you want updates to my Facebook page, and if you'd be interested in following a YouTube channel explaining my writing process and other behind-the-scenes aspects of my work, feel free to write your affirmation and suggestions down in the comments. As always, if you later wish to contact me directly on a platform that I'll actually check notifications on more often than once a month, you can email me at _mynamewasfrog at gee mail dot com._ In the meantime, enjoy the newest chapter!

 _ **CHAPTER 4 – THE RUNAWAY**_

At this question, Phoebe narrowed her eyes at the boy, scrutinizing his sudden change of character. There was no longer obnoxious charm hiding behind his eyes, urging her confounded curiosity to overcome her fear. There was only a mysterious pain. And despite Phoebe's piercing gaze, Leo Price only stared back with his face wiped of all other emotion. The entire Great Hall, for a few seconds, fell away from the two students' notice completely, and all other noise became irrelevant to their consciousness in anticipation for their questions being soon answered. As before, Phoebe began talking without realizing or thinking about what she was saying.

"I _am_ still afraid of you. I'm terrified of you after all that you've done and what you've been doing to me ever since you arrived here. I just-"

"You're talking about the nightmares, aren't you?"

Incredulous that Price knew her very dreams, Phoebe felt a sudden surge of anger in addition to an uncontrollable urge to cover herself. She felt violated.

"Can you-?"

Price shook his head vigorously, saying, "Don't worry. I'm not reading your mind, although I practice in legilimency quite often. I have them too...the nightmares, I mean. Mine are different from yours though. Everyone's are. One can't help having a brush with my crowd without the experience leaving some kind of...mark. I'm sorry I interrupted. Please, continue."

Price made a quick, circular motion in the air with his spoon and refocused his attention to his broth. Phoebe, although even more uncomfortable, continued with her eyes following the motion of Price's eating.

"As I was saying, I just wanted to know what was going on. I thought by finding out what this whole affair is about, I'd be able to...slate my fear. I'm sure whatever you're involved in can't be that bad."

"Oh, Miss Walker. If anything, by telling you what I've been involved in, your fear of me would only increase. Believe me, the same would go for your nightmares. Tell me, in your dreams, have you died yet?"

Not knowing what what this had to do with the conversation, Phoebe stared at the boy in silence for a few moments.

"No."

"Killed anyone yet?"

"No, I ju-"

"You haven't known fear then, not the way I've known it. But you will if you continue fraternizing with me. You're not that afraid of me. In fact, you're only beginning to experience real fear for the first time in your life. If you were truly, very afraid of me, you'd stay away from me, and you'd never be here talking to me right now. It's true, I almost killed you, but I didn't really mean to. And you know that. I'm also tame now. You trust your friend - that nurse - so you know if I were really dangerous to you or any other students, I'd never be allowed to stay here." Phoebe was becoming less uncomfortable and more irked by Price's unhelpfulness. Price reached into his oversized robes for a moment, shook his head with a sigh, and drew his hand back out, empty.

"What's your other question, Price? Make it quick, because I want to get to mine before dinner is over. I expect Professor Snape will want you in your house by a certain time so he can run you through his orientation. He's the head of your house."

"Well, that was my other question. I was wondering who he was. I've heard a lot about him, but I still haven't seen him in person."

"Professor Snape? He's right there. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Phoebe subtly pointed one finger without lifting her hand to avoid attracting attention to herself.

"He's the one with the black curtain-hair - who looks like he wants to kill himself all the time. Why?"

"Apparently, he vouched for me to stay here at Hogwarts...among others."

"I know. Although, I'm not sure why. He's not very fond of many students. Why are you so interested in him specifically?"

"No reason."

Not really believing him but eager for her patience to finally pay off, Phoebe refilled Price's bowl with broth to keep him content and focused for a while longer.

"Now, to my questions. I don't know why you're so interested in me or Professor Snape, but I believe it has something to do with your whole...deal."

Phoebe said this while gesturing to Price's bandaged wounds.

"So, what is your deal? What happened to you out in the Forbidden Forest? Where are you from? Why was your mouth sewn shut?"

For the second time ever, Leo Price's mouth curved ever-so-slightly into a genuine smile.

"You're not easily distracted, are you, Miss Walker?"

Phoebe couldn't help but return the smile. Though when she did, Price's countenance returned to a neutral expression.

"What kind of danger do you think you're in right now? How safe do you feel?"

Phoebe looked around at her surroundings, the professors, the other students, and to her right toward the Hall entrance.

"Besides you being here, pretty safe. I mean, despite all that's going on right now, we're at Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore's here, so how much danger could we be in?"

Price's line of sight turned to the teachers' table until landing on Dumbledore. He squinted his eyes, perusing every inch of the man, until, cupping his own left hand with his right, he jerked his eyes back toward Phoebe to avoid meeting the Headmaster's wandering gaze.

"Something tells me the old man won't be much help to us soon."

"What do you mean by that, Price?"

"He's got a curse in his left hand. It looks like it's spreading. You can tell by the blackened veins traveling up his forearm."

Phoebe's eyes widened, yelling, "What!" before catching herself and returning her voice to a whisper.

"Shouldn't we tell someone?"

"Don't you think he knows? Besides, if he hasn't let any students know, I'm sure he wants to keep things that way. The point is, there are forces outside these walls besides the Dark Lord, Miss Walker. There's another army out there, an unknown army, moving in the darkness as we speak."

At this, the night peeking through the vast windows on every wall of the Great Hall intensified, and visions of a legion in shadow flashed in back of Phoebe's mind. As Price said this, his voice grew darker to mimic the tone of the conversation.

"This was originally founded by the Dark Lord, but after his first disappearance nearly 15 years ago, the administration began to act on its own. In fact, even the Dark Lord himself is unaware this army still exists. His original intention for the army was merely an experiment that, if it worked, would act as his backup plan if his first army's efforts of striking against the free world failed him. As far as we know, he assumes it became unorganized and fell apart after his apparent death. Unfortunately, it did not."

"What's so terrifying about this army? How powerful can it be?"

"This isn't just an army. This is a network of dark wizards, growing like a virus, spreading throughout the world, secretly enslaving populations full of wizards in hiding, laying down sleeper cells full of specialized soldiers, waiting for the right time to strike. It's called the Secret State. They intend to make the militant branch of this State the head of their intercontinental government once they take over. They're waiting for an opportunity, right when they're powerful enough to take over everything, wizard and muggle-kind alike. They also don't simply recruit the insane, animalistic, and sadistic. They grow their armies from children. They kidnap pregnant young witches married to wizards who are most likely to produce magical children. Of course, they only accept boys as soldiers. They'll simply enslave the female children and women and use them to produce more wizards later on. They take the young boys, and they brainwash them from childhood. They destroy whatever personalities they might've had, and they turn them into soulless creatures, fueled only by negative emotions. They torture them to make them ruthless and illicit violent responses so they can trigger their use of magic at a younger age. As you know, most wizards and witches experience their first signs of magic around seven or eight years old, but with these cruel methods, the soldiers of the Secret State are able to illicit magic from young wizards at four or five years old. From there, they only get more powerful with brutal training. While the Dark Lord's goal is first to gain a foothold in Britain so he may later gain the world, the Secret State's first and incredibly attainable goal is the world. Unlike the Dark Lord, who flaunts his victories and turns them into failures, the Secret State is cunning and patient. They're growing faster now than they ever did under the Dark Lord's leadership though."

"Who knows about this?"

"Very few. Even fewer now that I've lost most of my team. That is why I _cannot_ tell anyone, even the teachers. If anyone knows about this, word may go out of the knowledge that the State exists. When this happens, every sleeper cell across the world will be triggered, and they will begin their attack on the world earlier than planned, and this war will be unwinnable on both sides. No one will survive. However, if we wait...If I only had a bit more time and resources…I could bring the whole system down when it's too big to remain stable."

Leo Price fell silent for a moment. His speech up to this point seemed somewhat easy for him to articulate, but now he had reached the difficult portion. His facial expressions faltered, growing somehow, even more serious.

"I was part of this army from birth. Until the age of eight, I too had become a soulless creature with no hope for freedom, fueled by my synthetically warped hatred for all life. Though a small piece of humanity remained in me that even I didn't know about, until a small team of spies that had infiltrated and joined the army as officers recognized that piece of humanity and brought me out of my madness. Ever since that time eight years ago, I had been rising in the ranks at a primary training base, and in secret, the spies raised me while teaching me advanced magic. Fourteen months ago, all was going as planned, and all of us moles were successfully infiltrating the base and leaking the location codes to all their bases and sleeper cells to contacts outside the inner-operation. Unfortunately, our leader was caught, and before he could even protect his mind from legilimency, his hippocampal barriers had been breached, and everyone on the inside was found out. I only just escaped after witnessing the rest of my team's execution. I had to…escape, I mean. You see, most of the men on my team had children within the army in order to hold their covers, and I promised, even if I failed in my overall mission, I'd free them before I die and raise them in secret. The only one who didn't was the leader. He was a high-ranking officer like me, and we two weren't required to have children. That's why I agreed to take on his name. I'm to carry on his family's legacy."

Enthralled in the conversation, Phoebe had already ignored all goings on around her long ago.

"You were in such terrible shape when you got here though. You still haven't told me what actually happened to you out there."

"I was getting to that. As soon as I escaped from the base, I began apparating everywhere to find a place I could be safe for a while. I've been on the run for more than a year though, and it hasn't been an easy one. Building up a sizable amount of food, rest, or money for any amount of time is rather difficult when you're always on the move, trying to keep undercover. Anyway, several different State bases were beginning to learn my patterns of movement, and they were tracking my location. I knew I had to settle down somewhere safe, and Hogwarts was the only place I could think of that had the type of security I needed. The State realized where I was headed though. I didn't exactly know where Hogwarts was myself, so I had to apparate all around the country and talk to many different wizards in order to find proper directions. The State was able to track where I was apparating to, as I closed onto the location slowly, only a bit closer and closer each time. I knew they would be waiting for me in the Forbidden Forest with a few battalions, so I knew I had to be ready. I fought them. I killed hundreds of them. They almost killed me, but in the end, that gigantic Professor found me and took me back into the boundaries of the school. Upon realizing I was already out of their reach, I'm sure they cleared away that same night. They definitely haven't forgotten me though. I suppose they know I won't alert the Wizarding World without an endless war breaking out, which is why it hasn't broken out yet. I'm playing the biggest game of Wizarding Chess ever, and I have to win. That's why I need your help. I'm at a stalemate right now, and in order to break it, I need witches and wizards who can help me finish the work my team and I started. Although, we no longer have the luxury of bringing down the Secret State from the inside. In short, I'm building a team of a few students to bring down an army of tens of thousands."

"I still don't understand. I could see why you were so beaten, but why was your mouth sewn shut?"

At this, Price's eyes faltered, and he suddenly became enamored with a fleck of dust that had landed on the rim of his bowl.

"After a year on the run, I experienced a level of loneliness and madness I'd never experienced before. I became an animal. I wasn't simply looking for a safe place, I was looking for my humanity again. Even after eight years of constant therapy from my newfound friends, I still hadn't completely returned. Just like during my childhood when there was still a piece of humanity left in me, after all that time, there was still a dormant piece of my animalistic nature aching to break free. Solitude and paranoia toying with my mind every night, I became the very monster of the nightmares I've been having since I can remember. During a fight against the battalions a week before my arrival, I let loose every piece of rage and fury built up from all the pain I'd ever experienced. After what the State had done to me in my life, killing hundreds of both boys and fully-grown men in the most brutal ways possible at that point was quite easy for me. In the end, I even resorted to using my own teeth to take my victims, which leads me to the next dark segment of our business here. An unprotected blow to my abdomen during the fatal attack of a man's neck caused me to swallow the human flesh I tore from his throat. I didn't have time to try and make myself sick, since I was still in the middle of a battle, but afterward, my overwhelming shame pushed me over the edge. I used a stitching kit I stole to sew my own mouth shut. That's how soldiers used to be punished when they tried to cannibalize the younger 'recruits,' which happened a lot during famines. A week, and a few bloody fights later, I fought my way through eight battalions, and exhausted, I collapsed less than a mile outside of Hogwarts. As I'm sure you know, in order to create a Horcrux, a mere murder won't suffice. That's why when I-"

"A what?"

Price stared incredulously at Phoebe for a few moments.

"Don't they teach you about-? Never-mind, then. I'll just…come back to that later."

Leo Price shut his eyes tightly and laid his forehead in his hands for a moment before sighing and passing his hands over his closely shaved scalp.

"I believe I've told you everything worth knowing for the time being."

"Wait! I still have one more question. Who's Lazlo?"

"No more questions, Miss Walker...at least for tonight...at least from me. This conversation aside, I still have my own questions...about Hogwarts."

Snapping back to reality, Phoebe pushed her food away from her in disgust and attempted to mindfully follow the change of subject.

"I don't know if I'll be able to answer many of your questions, _Mr. Price_. Before tonight, I didn't even know you'd be attending Hogwarts at all."

"Well, I just need to know where I'm going. I have no idea where any of my classes are. They gave me a list of my schedule, and I think they were planning on giving me a guided tour tomorrow afternoon, but why don't you give me one instead?"

"How fast can you even walk? And I know you're skinny right now, but I'm still smaller than you. Do you honestly think I'd be able to support you? You still weigh more than me, even without any noticeable amount of meat on your bones."

"I'll manage."

"Fine. Give me the schedule."

Price fished the slip of parchment out of his right pocket. Phoebe grabbed the parchment from Price and instantly tucked it into her robes. "I don't know how you're feeling considering you've been lying in a bed for two weeks, but I'm quite tired. I'll look over it, and I'll get back to you in the morning when we can discuss more...at breakfast?"

Price raised his eyebrows but nodded.

"I heard we're in the same year. How'd they test you?"

"Most of the examination was all written, but the last quarter...about an hour and a half long, was practical...how to perform certain spells and charms and how to brew certain potions. That older witch…, Professor McGonagall - she wrote down all kinds of notes about how I was doing, and I left the room so the other teachers could examine my other work. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised at how easy the practical stuff was for me. I don't know why I'm not in sixth year. Although, I guess it's because of all that useless stuff that I didn't know as well. Who _ever_ needs to know the spell to switch all of a book's writing upside-down, and how would anyone know if it's upside down or not if it's all upside-down? Couldn't you just turn the book itself upside-down too? It was more about bloat in knowledge than it was about practical application, especially in the field."

At this, Phoebe couldn't help but smiling a broad, truly amused grin.

"Well, not all of us are spy-soldiers, you know. Some of us _do_ need to know how to turn a bottle into a wheelbarrow."

Catching her sarcasm, Price returned the banter with a smirk warmer and more good-natured than the fake one he used at the Slytherin table.

"Have you ever needed to know how to do that in a real-life situation?"

Forgetting herself completely, Phoebe winked at Leo Price and said,

"Never." After a few moments of easy laughter, Phoebe thought of something.

"Price?"

"Yes?"

"If all this information is so sensitive, why are you telling me?"

Instantly, Price regained the sensible animosity that previously existed between them as he impulsively grabbed his cane and painfully forced himself up from the stool with a weary groan.

"No one was paying much attention once the excitement died down. I doubt anyone heard this entire conversation, and even if they did, who'd believe a word spoken here?"

"Are you saying I'm a sucker?"

"No, I just meant…quite the opposite, in fact. Not everyone has seen the things you've seen. I'd call you a fool if you didn't believe me. Anyway, as hard as this is for you to believe, I have had a more exhausting week than merely lying in a hospital bed. I'm officially done answering questions tonight. Therefore, I bid you a good night, Miss Phoebe Walker."

Before Price could escape the irony of the brightly lit Hall, however, Phoebe took one more venture in asking, "Price. You said you took the last name of your friend. What's your real name?"

She expected for a moment he wouldn't answer her final query, but he surprisingly obliged.

"My real name is Leo P-"

"Miss Walker, could I please speak with you for a moment?"

At that moment, Professor McGonagall was standing behind Phoebe with her hands on her hips and a stern expression dominating her features. Trying not to shiver from the excitable effects of the previous conversation, Phoebe stood up and turned to speak with the obviously irked teacher.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," she said, as if oblivious to the suspiciousness of her current situation. Phoebe got up from the table and followed Professor McGonagall to the corner of the room.

"Miss Walker, I thought, surely, after all that happened to you, you wouldn't dare go near the boy. I see, however, that you don't see any harm in inviting him, a newly-dubbed Slytherin, to your table for a chat."

"Well, Professor...I assumed…"

Phoebe ran her eyes around the ceiling once, trying to remember Price's exact words.

"...If he really posed any danger to me or the other students, he'd never be allowed to stay here."

Professor McGonagall scrutinized Phoebe with a fiery glare for a few moments, but she could not afford to waste time interrogating Phoebe.

"Hmm… Alright. Well, I just wanted to offer you the rundown, as it were, that Mr. Price has tested into your year, and also I wanted to warn you that he will also be attending most of your classes."

"I know, Professor. Madam Pomfrey already told me."

"Yes, and I suppose that information would be obsolete anyway, seeing as you don't seem to mind him at all now. That being fully acknowledged, I would like to add that in our briefing sessions and during Madam Pomfrey's time tending to the boy's needs over the past few days, he has been particularly quiet about his past. We know he's been through a significant amount of emotional trauma, so we decided to let him unravel himself on his own time. We also thought it wise if we allowed him to open up to someone...perhaps another student to whom he's more partial. It seems to have worked. As just recently displayed, our young Mr. Price seems to have taken a certain liking to you from the beginning. In these past ten minutes, he's talked more to you than to either Madame Pomfrey or myself. I just want you to know, if he discloses any information to you that seems suspicious or odd in any capacity, you are to report it to me directly. Though he's possibly dangerously disturbed. I don't want you to get insensibly close to him to the point of compromising your own safety. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. So I'm to try and get close enough to him to get him to open up to me but not too close in case he turns dangerous again?"

"Precisely. I leave it to your evidently good judgement to decide what that point is. I trust Madame Pomfrey, and she seems to trust you."

"Yes, ma'am. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Miss Walker. That will be all."

Once Professor McGonagall had left the increasingly empty Great Hall, Phoebe turned back around to confirm a time of meeting with Price for tomorrow morning, but when she glanced back at their spot at the Hufflepuff table, he had gone. She then decided to join the other stragglers wearily exiting the Great Hall, heading to bed, grumbling about the homework she'd just remembered she'd been assigned for the weekend. Although, she couldn't complain. As a whole, Phoebe Walker's life was a lot more interesting than it was two weeks ago, before she had any of her nightmares, narrowly escaped a raging psychopath who enjoyed setting himself on fire, or agreed to help the very same psychopath save the world from a dark wizard army. And admittedly, for the first time at Hogwarts, she seemed to have found a pastime that didn't involve mending students' magically inverted fingernails.

Author's After-Note

If you like the way this story is heading, let me know! If you don't like the way this story is going, let me know! I promise, the entire story isn't going to be dialogue, but I do need to work up to the action, character tension, and overall excitement in the story. For instance, now that so much has been revealed in this chapter, in closely following chapters, the characters can get a lot done with the information given. As I'm still learning how to organize and present writing in a novelized format, I'm not yet that skillful at employing every element into a single chapter. And I bet mixing every element into a single chapter would be much easier if I were releasing the entire book at one time, instead of a chapter every once in a while. On another note, seeing as I did all of the writing, re-writing, and editing over the course of three non-consecutive days, we may all have hope that I can one day try releasing chapters weekendly(if that's even a word). Although, if you, the reader, feel the quality of my work is suffering at all because I'm rushing to push out more content, I'll definitely take my time and effort in regaining the quality both you and I desire out of my work.


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